


Damsel in distress

by wevegotworktodo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wevegotworktodo/pseuds/wevegotworktodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series summary: It’s 13th century Europe. You’re a badass, dragon slaying, hunter, who’s well on your way to becoming a knight in no time. However, there’s a catch. Being a knight under King Samuel’s rule in Winchester is a little different than in most kingdoms and things are, well…. complicated to say the least</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Now, let’s have a little history lesson on this version of Winchester: Sam was just crowned king -Why is the younger of the brothers king, you ask? Because in Winchester age doesn’t matter, size does. Sam’s also really into tough chicks, and plans to take the first female worthy of the knighthood as his wife. Looky there - that’s you; one tough cookie whose goal since childhood has been to become a knight. Prince Dean was sent on a quest with you; kill the dragon plaguing small communities surrounding Winchester, and report back to his brother if you are worthy to be his bride. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter 1: 

You duck just in the nick of time as a fireball whooshes by your head. “Goddamn it.” you mumble under your breath, continuing to hold your ground, but hunkering behind a boulder. “If this son of a bitch scorches my hair I’m turning him into a pair of boots!” 

Dean’s behind you, now actually rolling on the ground laughing. 

You roll your eyes, “Take cover you boob. I’ll never get knighted if I have to explain to the king why his brother was turned into a shish kabob.”

“Wouldn’t that make me a prince kabob?” You stare silently as he laughs at his own joke. “No? Fine.”

Another ball of fire whizzes by. Dean stands from behind the rock, raises his sword in the air and runs towards the angry beast. You contemplate for a split second that maybe you should just let the beast have him, Sam would be more than grateful when you avenge his brother’s death. But...you can’t do it, the boob’s kinda grown on you. You take a deep breath, white knuckling your sword as you charge forward. 

\-----

The dragon lay dead at your feet, several trees still burning behind you. Dean is off to one side, knocked out cold, his sword a few hundred feet away. Cursing to yourself you sheath your bloody weapon, throw him over one shoulder, your pack over the other, and begin the three day journey home. 

You’ve carried Dean as far as you can, the river is just ahead and you’re not about to trudge through water carrying his heavy ass so you drop him to the ground under a large oak tree. You’re not sure if it’s the clang of the chain maille or the jolt it self that wakes him, regardless, he starts to stir. 

You kick his foot, and he grumbles. “Get undressed big boy.”

“Don’t you wanna make out first?”

You glare at him, can’t believe his audacity. “We need to wash the blood off before it gets dark, gonna draw predators and I’d actually like to rest rather than worry ‘bout bears and wolves all night.” 

“Fine, we’ll make out after.” he smiles and wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You undress slowly, deliberately, curious to see how much of what comes out of his mouth is just him blowing smoke up your ass, and how much of it is really his way of flirting. He’s working on taking his shoes off, but out of the corner of your eye you can see him watching you intently. 

Carrying your bloody clothes you go several yards downstream then wade out about waist deep, and begin washing them out. Once you’re satisfied with their cleanliness you toss them up onto a nearby rock and begin washing yourself. Dean is just making his way into the water, you try not to stare but his erection definitely has your attention. He’s noticed you looking, opens his mouth to make what you’re sure is another lude remark, slips on a rock and disappears beneath the surface. 

You rush over to where he went under, finding nothing but his clothes floating around on the surface. You thrash around searching, certain at this point that he’s hit his head on a rock and is probably drowning a few feet away, then you feel something brush against your leg. You jerk as it wraps around not just one but both of them. Dean’s arms are around you, hands splayed across your ass, keeping you from moving, his head between your legs, tongue sliding through your folds. Your eyes go wide, maybe this ain't so bad, you could definitely use the release, and hell he is one sexy, although slightly annoying, prince. 

He circles your clit twice with his thick tongue before his head pops up, sucking in deep breaths. You smile down at him, run your fingers through his hair then push his head under again. He finds your clit much faster this time, makes quick circles over and around the sensitive bundle of nerves. One hand squeezes your ass, the other joins his mouth between your legs, a long thick finger sliding easily into your slick hole. 

Dean breaks the water’s surface again, his thumb taking over on your clit. He stands, presses his lips to yours as he adds a second finger causing you to gasp into his mouth. His hand moves down your thigh to behind your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist. He lines his hard cock up with your entrance, sliding in easily with a thrust of his hips. Wrapping your arms around his neck you raise your other leg, lacing them both around his waist as he presses further into you. 

He carries you towards the rock your clothes are on, laying you back against it as he sets his pace. His cock is long and thick, hitting all the right spots with each push and pull. There's familiar tightening low in your belly, and your groaning obscenely. Your noises are being met with Dean’s own grunts and growls, and when he presses his thumb against your clit you see nothing but a white light as you thrash beneath him. Your walls are still clenching when Dean pulls out, shooting his load over your breasts. 

He smiles, presses a chaste kiss to your lips, and lowers himself into the water swimming circles around you. You lower your upper body into the water, rinsing away Dean’s release. You go to grab your clothes off the rock behind you, noticing several sizeable white blobs splattered across your shirt. 

“Dean!” You yell. “I just fucking washed these! Don't you have any better control of that thing?” 

“It’d been a while, I was a little backed up. Better your clothes than mine anyways.” 

“You fucking dick.” You mumble, but loud enough the dick can actually hear you. “Hey, where are your clothes anyway?” You ask, steadily washing your shirt for a second time. 

“Shit!” He looks downriver, can barely see his things floating towards some rapids. 

He climbs out onto the bank, sprinting along the river’s edge, trying to catch up with the garments. You climb out as well, start to hang your things on a tree branch to dry. 

You hear a splash as Dean goes in and you're getting a good laugh at him struggling to wrangle each item in the swift current. He disappears under the water, you watch for a moment before realizing he's not playing this time. 

It's not easy but you manage to reach him, pull him out of the rapids, but you're unable to save his clothes. You're both laying butt ass naked on the river bank, chests heaving. 

“For a prince you sure have the damsel in distress thing down.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He coughs out. 

“I've saved you twice…in one day!” 

“Touché.” He rolls over facing you. “Looks like I owe you another O.”

“An O?” 

“That's how the damsel in distress thing works right? The knight saves her and to show her appreciation she puts out. So... I owe you another orgasm.”

You stand up, dusting yourself off. “Sure man, whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

You head back to the tree, get a change of clothes from your satchel, and start to build a fire. Dean finally comes back carrying an arm of firewood, flaccid junk flopping as he walks. 

“Think maybe you can put some clothes on? Don't wanna roast your weiner by the fire.” You giggle. 

He rolls his eyes. “I don't have any clothes. That was my only set.” 

“You came on a dragon hunt with only one pair of clothes?”

“I have more, they're just in Baby's saddlebags.” 

“The horse that spooked, threw you, and ran away with the first fireball?” 

“That's the one. Hope you're enjoying the view ‘cause looks like I'll be free ballin’ ‘til we find her, or get home.”

You get a fur blanket from your bag, stretch out by the fire and bed down for the night. Dean’s sitting in the dirt, steadily poking the fire with a long stick, humming to himself. You sit up to tell him to stuff it so you can get some rest, but you notice him shivering. 

Against your better judgement, you throw the blanket back. “Get in, but keep that thing away from me.” 

“Hunter’s honor.” He promises as he crawls in behind you, facing the opposite direction. 

\----  
Daylight comes quickly. Your eyes flutter open and for some reason you're surprisingly warm and sated. Then you realize Dean is wrapped around you, arms around your torso, legs tangled together, warm breath brushing across your neck with each quiet snore. You shift a little and he stirs, pulling you closer, pressing his hard member against your ass. You jump up, startling him awake. 

“Whoa there big boy, you promised.” 

Dean stands, throws his hands up in defense. “Relax sweetheart, I just have to pee.” He trots to the backside of the tree to relieve himself, grinning at the stroke to his ego because you called him ‘big boy’ again. 

“See better already.” He says, basically presenting it to you as he steps out from behind the oak. 

You pull your now dry clothes from the limb above your head, tossing them to Dean. “They won't fit well, but it's better than nothing.” 

“Or is it? Ready to cash in that i.o.u. yet?”

“Get dressed, we've got ground to cover.”   
__

Together you decide to follow this side of the river, maybe find Dean’s clothes, crossover sometime tomorrow. 

The first couple hours is fairly quiet, until Dean just can't stand it any longer. 

“What do you see in my brother anyway?”

You pause, thinking for a moment. “I don't know.” 

“You're doing all of this for him and you don't know?”

“Well, we've never actually met, so….” You stop to pick a few berries, popping a couple into your mouth as you talk.

“So, lemme get this straight. I'm out here, judging your worthiness to be his knight/wife and you don't even know if you like him?” 

“I mean, I’ve seen him. He’s handsome...and tall...and well, he’s obviously bigger than you in certain departments or he wouldn’t be king.” You look down to his crotch where he’s fighting to adjust himself in your too tight pants. 

“Look lady, what I’m packin’ is au naturale. My brother’s length - as impressive as it is, came from the demon who cursed him and killed our mother. Some sort of bullshit destiny crap. And I don’t recall hearing you complain about size yesterday.”

“Why do you have to go there? I needed a tension release, end of story. Didn’t know you were gonna go fallin’ in love with me and shit.”

“Hardly, sweetheart. If I fell in love with every woman I threw a little sausage to….”

You stop him short. “Shhhhh, get down.” you grab him by the shoulder, pulling him to the ground with you behind the blackberry bush. The growling comes closer, through the branches you can see the snarling creature, walking upright on two legs, sniffing the air. “Werewolf,” you whisper. 

The beast catches sight of you, lunges for Dean. Dean’s fast, slices his head off with one swing, but it’s body keeps coming, clawing, tearing at his flesh. Dean is on the ground under the monster, continuing to slice and dice. You move around behind, run your sword through it’s back, catching the heart on the way out the other side. You withdrawal your weapon and what’s left of the body falls flat on top of Dean. Helping him to move the carcass, and to his feet, you notice a large gash to his upper arm. 

“You got a death wish or somethin’?’ You ask, rolling your eyes

“Hey, I had that. Not my fault it didn’t die with decapitation.” Dean says, dusting himself off. 

“I said it was a werewolf. Silver dude, has to be silver.”

“I know that, my silver knife is just in…”

“Your saddlebag?” He nods. “Figures.”

“Who the hell carries around a silver sword anyways? Isn’t that thing heavy?”

“Only the tip has been dipped in silver.” You point the blade at Dean’s face. “Silver kills a lot of things and I don’t have the time or the means to carry more than one weapon. You might want to consider it for next time.” You grab Dean by the arm, inspecting the injury. “Let’s patch this up before prince sausage slinger bleeds out.”  
__

“This is going to hurt.” You warn, spinning the hot metal over the fire. 

“Just don’t cut me.” he says, biting down on a stick as he readies himself.

You press the hot metal of the sword against his arm, cauterizing the wound. He screams out, sucks in deep breaths through his teeth, as he hunches over in pain. Tossing the still hot item to the ground you start to soothe him by rubbing his leg while blowing cooling breaths over the area. 

Dean looks at you, a change in his eyes, something soft about them now. He reaches out, cups your face with his hand, pulls you into him. Your first instinct is to push him away, but his lips are so soft and full, warm and inviting, and the thing he does with his tongue…


	2. Oooh, Baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and y/n run into more trouble on their way to Winchester. When they finally make it to the castle Dean has a decision to make.

New life goals: Stop repeatedly sleeping with the brother of the man you intend on marrying. In hindsight, that should of been a goal to begin with, but what’s done is done. You’re gonna chalk it up to the damsel in distress/hero dynamic Dean was talking about and forget it ever happened. 

It’s the beginning of the third day of your trek home, and you’re getting close to Winchester, should be there by tomorrow afternoon, infact. Setbacks making the trip a little longer than initially planned. Dean hasn’t been exactly talkative since yesterday afternoon, and you’ve counted your blessings as far as that’s concerned. It’s more of an awkward silence really, made a little worse by the fact that every time you make eye contact you practically rip each other’s clothes off. When he finally pipes up, it makes you cringe. 

“How'd you become a hunter in the first place Y/N?”

“It's not really any of your business.” 

Dean stops dead in his tracks, throwing his arms in the air. “Ah, come on. I'm just tryin’ to get to know my future sister-in-law a little better.” 

“I think you know me quite well.”

“Just because I’ve frequented the bat cave doesn’t mean I know you.”

Unamused, you keep trudging forward, “You really wanna know?”

He runs a little to catch up, passes you, turns and walks backwards facing you. “And yes, I really wanna know.” 

“Fine…I come from a family of peasants. They were all killed by ‘something.’ Everyone but me, ripped apart, our home set on fire. I was twelve, taught myself how to fight to survive. Not just in the literal sense, but I made a living at it, hunting, filling bounties. Always heard the legends about the Knights of the round table in Winchester. Never wanted anything so badly in my entire life, but a female knight just wasn’t a possibility until your brother took the throne. Hell, I never dreamt of being queen, but it's a nice perk I suppose.”

Dean stops, looks at you speechless for once. In the distance you hear a horse neighing. It catches Dean’s ear too. “That’s Baby!”

He grabs your hand, pulling you off the trail and through the woods. There’s a small clearing about a hundred yards ahead. You see the beautiful black mare, reins tied to a tree, raring back distraught.

A high pitched voice grabs your attention. “Pipe down my pretty. Water’s almost hot. You’ll make for a fine stew.”

She was old and wretched, thin narrow nose, deep set eyes, stirring a large cauldron over burning embers. There were two others just as fugly as the first, adding miscellaneous herbs, and roots to the pot. You silently make eye contact with Dean and could tell you were on the same page -definitely witches. 

You motion for the two of you to split up, come in at different angles. Dean understood, quietly making his way around to the other side of the clearing. You would wait for him to take position then signal so you could go in together. 

The plan seemed to be working until Dean steps on a branch, the loud crack drawing the witches’ attention away from their brew, straight to him. You see him look your way, with a heavy sigh you dash forward, sword drawn, ready for action. Dean follows suit, entering the clearing as well, fearful if he hesitated they might gain an advantage over him in the thickly wooded area. 

“Hey Hag, over here!” You yell, hopeful to get some of their attention focused on you and off of Dean. The improv works, all three of them turning to look at you, but not necessarily in your favor. 

The shorter of the three holds her hands out in front of her, a purple glowing orb of light forming between her palms. She throws it at you, releasing it from her fingers just as Dean relieves her head from it’s position between her shoulders. You duck as the luminous sphere whirls past you. It banks in mid air, turning to come at you a second time. You move sluggishly now, the magic somehow consuming you before it ever hit you in the chest, and you fall to the ground unconscious. 

Dean was struggling with the other two himself, knocked flat on his back, only inches from the fire pit, bits of hair singeing in the dancing flames. One of the remaining crones lunges toward him with a small pig sticker in her hand. Dean throws his feet up, pressing the soles of his shoes into her stomach, the momentum flipping her over his head and into the fire herself. Dean was lucky enough that her fall caused the cauldron to topple over, spilling it’s contents onto the remaining old bag, melting her into a steaming puddle. Both of their wretched screams filling the air, threatening a bleeding ear. 

Breathlessly with chest heaving, Dean stands and makes his way to where you were still unconscious. After checking you head to toe, and not detecting any obvious injuries, Dean hoists you over his shoulder, depositing you stomach down across Baby’s saddle, arms and legs dangling limp from either side of the horse. It was still early in the day, and you both needed to get to Winchester. Dean does a once over of Baby as well, making sure she wasn’t injured, whispering sweet nothings in her ear about how much he missed her. When he was certain she was in tip top shape he unties her, leading the black beauty towards home. 

**********  
You wake fuzzy headed, and in a bed -an actual, honest to god, feathery, cozy bed, surrounded with luxurious blankets and scents. A smile tugs at your lips when you see a large wall tapestry adorned with the Winchester family crest. 

Once you have your wits, you throw back the covers and climb out, making sure your feet are steady before heading towards the door. It's locked from the outside, surely for your protection, so you knock and call out to see if anyone is listening. Several long minutes go by before you hear the lock turning, Dean standing in the doorway when it opens. 

“‘Bout time. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.” he says with a grin on his face as he enters your room, closing the door loudly behind him. 

You roll your eyes, “You gonna tell me what happened? How i got here?”

“Witches, don’t you remember?”

“Vaguely. I remember us running into that field to save your stupid horse.”

“I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just say that Y/N because I believe you may still be delirious.” He smiles again, taking a seat in a large chair by the fireplace. “You were knocked unconscious, I brought you back... brought you home.” 

You looked at your feet almost shyly, “This is hardly my home Dean.” 

“It will be when I report of your worthiness to my brother.”

The sudden formality in his voice reminded you of your primary objective. “So you haven’t spoken yet?” 

Dean hesitated for a second before lying directly to your face. “No, we have not. It will perhaps be a few more days before we can meet.” He’s quiet for a bit, remembering his homecoming to Winchester castle. 

King Samuel met his brother in the courtyard the evening of his return. You were still thrown over Baby’s saddle, limp as a wet noodle. The King sized you up a bit, circling the horse, running his eyes over your backside. Dean watched him intently, stopping him when he started to brush the hair out of your face to take a peek at his potential bride. 

“Whoa there little brother...you...um... might wanna hold off on that.”

“Why? Is she not worthy?”

“That is still to be determined. She is fierce on the battlefield. However, her face is just as offensive.” Sam’s moves his hand away from you as Dean puts an arm around his shoulders, leading him away. “Let’s let her lady in waiting work with her for a few days, see if they can clean her up enough that you can at least stand to look at her.” 

“Yes, let’s.” Sam agreed. 

Dean let his arm fall from Sam’s shoulder, as he was distracted by a member of his court. Dean sighed in relief as Sam was whisked away, quickly returning to your unconscious body. He felt bad about lying to his brother. Of course you were worthy, not to mention the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on, but he felt like he needed more time before handing you over to become the Queen. 

Dean stands, takes a few steps toward the exit. “I have a meeting to get to, but one of the servants will be in to help you bathe and pick out some clothes.” 

“Will you be back?” you ask hopefully. Closing some of the distance between you. 

He’s already reaching for the doorknob. “Sweetheart, I saved you from those witches. Now it’s you who owes me a ride in the banana basket. I’ll be back to cash that in,” he says wiggling his eyebrows, eyes crinkling with the large smile spread across his face. 

“Rules are rules,” you wink, as he closes the door behind him. 

***************************  
Dean reports to the library right on time. King Samuel is sitting at a large table, surrounded by the lore books he’s studying intently. Dean clears his throat to get Sam’s attention, before striding over, sitting in front of him. A servant hastily places two mugs of wine at their side. 

“You wanted to see me Sam?”

“Just wondering if you have any updates on the girl?” he asks barely looking up from the book on demons. 

“I have it on good authority that she is awake. The servants are to begin their work immediately to make her more aesthetically appealing.” Dean chugs his drink, hoping Sam is buying at least some of his crap. 

Sam actually looks up this time. “Do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, from what I saw she wasn’t half bad.”

Dean was fuming “Not half bad, my ass.” He mumbled it under his breath, not meant for his brother’s ears. You were so much more than that, more than he, or Sam, could ever of imagined. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam closes the book, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and crossing his arms across his broad chest. 

“Just that….nothing.” Dean concedes. “I give you my word that I will personally attend to this matter for you. I will spend every waking moment with her if I have to.”


	3. King Samuel and the...Holy Hell!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader finally gets knighted, just the ceremony isn't exactly what she'd expected. Smut (threesome). Cliffhanger. (in that order, seriously that's all there is)

So.... Dean wasn’t exactly lying to Sam when he said he’d attend to your every waking moment, that was definitely the truth. He just wasn’t exactly honest with him about what would be happening during your time together. It’d be a little hard for Dean to come right out and say that his brother’s bride to be had been tainted by him, that she tastes like cherries, and that he has no intention of doing anything other that burying his tongue, and his dick, inside of her until the second coming of Christ. 

 

To hell with the second coming of Christ, the only cumming Dean’s concerned with at this moment is yours, he’d been on quests in the past for the Holy Grail, and he has found it. You’re on your back, legs spread open wide. The huge petticoat your lady in waiting insisted on you wearing is blocking your view, but damn you can definitely feel what he’s doing. Fingers buried deep, tongue taking turns lapping between your clit and your ass. He’d be the man of your dreams, if you had such. You much prefer to call them goals, that makes your wants more reasonable to rationalize. 

 

“I wanna see all of you.” Dean says as he flips you to your stomach, starts to unlace your corset. 

 

“She’s gonna be so pissed.” You groan, speaking of the servant who spent thirty minutes lacing you into the damn thing this morning. 

 

He leans into you, sucks an earlobe between his teeth while his hands work between your bodies. “It’s gonna be worth it.” he mumbles, warm breath and kisses peppering down your neck. You know it will be because it always is, worth it. He’s straddling you, sits up then leans back on his haunches to examine the garment further. He’s almost got it, just…one...more… 

 

The dress flies open at the same time the door does, a commotion brought in with the breeze. Dean’s head flies around to see what the sudden fuss is, but you’re stuck face down under his weight. You can’t see a fucking thing, but you feel the sudden tension in the room.

 

“Sam!?” Dean chokes out in a shaking voice. 

 

Fuck. 

 

Sam stops dead in his tracks, just inside the door. A plethora of guards and miscellaneous servants right on his heels, all colliding into one another. There’s a wave of gasps as your situation comes into their view. 

 

“Everybody out.” Sam growls, but no one moves. They're all seemingly frozen in place. His face turns red as the anger builds, “Your King commands you to LEAVE!” 

With that they all do as told, scurrying out of the room as quickly as they entered. Sam closes the door behind them, securing the lock. 

 

Dean has been frozen in place, until now. Before Sam can turn around Dean is on his feet. Feeling like a turtle on it’s back you struggle to turn yourself over, the huge dress making things difficult, worsened by the fact it’s now open in the back and you're trying very hard to retain some sort of modesty in front of your King. 

 

“Sam, I...I can explain.” Dean stammers out.

 

“Explain what big brother? Why you’re on top of my fiancé with your joystick straining the front of your pants.” Sam looks over to you, studies your face a moment before turning back to Dean for his answer. 

 

You expect Dean to do some fast talking, to get you both out of this, except Dean has no answer. He just stands there, looking first to Sam then to you, stammering. 

 

Double fuck. 

 

Moving towards you, and passed Dean, Sam makes short work of the distance with his long legs. Your gaze follows him, seeing how dashing he is up close makes your heart skip a beat. He reaches out to you, cupping your chin in his large hand as he studies your face. “I see the servants did a fine job.” He nods to Dean, then focuses his gaze back on you. “Stand up.” 

 

You do as you are told, standing as quickly as you can, one arm across your chest to keep your dress up. Sam reaches out again, this time guiding your arm down to your side, the dress pooling on the floor at your feet. You take a deep breathe in as he begins to remove his belt. He’s known to be a hands on King so you figure you’ll most definitely receive a beating and be exiled from Winchester, that is..if he’s feeling charitable. 

 

Dean palms his manhood monster, adjusting himself as he looks at you standing nude before his brother. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the younger Winchester. 

 

“How many times have you two played hide the salami?” This time his question is aimed directly at you. 

 

Triplequadruplefucketyfuck. 

 

Glancing nervously at Dean you begin to speak slowly, “Four--fourteen, I believe, your--your majesty.” Of course you'd never really counted, sounds like a good even, low, number. 

 

“Fourteen times,” he repeats. “And you never once considered that I might want in on this?” A smile tugging at his lips, he looks to Dean again, who only shakes his head no. Sam starts to unlace the front of his own shirt, pulling it over his head. He reaches out, one long thick finger tracing across your collarbone, reigniting the burning in your core. “What should we do to Dean to punish him for hiding you from me for so long?” 

 

You may be turned on, but you’re not stupid. Still very aware that the king is pissed and quite possibly wrathful, “A punishment fitting of the crime, my Lord. Make him watch.”

 

Sam raises his eyebrows, “Very fitting. Take a seat big brother.” Dean grins as he sits, knows this isn’t exactly what he’d call punishment.

 

Sam brushes his fingers across your collarbone again, this time pushing your hair off of your shoulder. He dips his head, grazes his teeth across your now exposed earlobe and down your neck. You groan at the feeling of his lips on your skin, warm and wet, sending shivers through you as he works his way to your shoulder and across to your breast. Your head falls back and your eyes close as Sam captures your nipple between his lips, mimicking his movements on the other side with his fingers, twisting and pulling the hardened bud in exactly the same manner as his tongue. 

 

When you run your hands through Sam’s luxuriously soft shoulder length locks, he looks up at you through hooded eyes. His hands move down to your hips, leaving your skin long enough to unhook his pants, bending slightly at the waist to push the fabric down his thighs, toeing them the rest of the way off along with his shoes. 

 

For the first time you are able to get a good look at your King, and he couldn’t be more different than your Prince, but hey, you’re perfectly fine with some variety. 

 

“Kneel” Sam grinds out, a bit of apprehension in his voice. He never knows how a woman is going to react to the sight of the ‘Winchester twelve’, some have been pleasantly surprised, others have run away screaming to keep that thing away from them. 

 

Many have said that the curse is just a myth, but as you hit your knees your eyes widen, thefuckingholyhell, the legend is definitely, 100%, absofreakinglutely true. It’s not as thick as Dean’s but most definitely every goddamn bit of a foot long, swollen tip a dusty pink, bead of precum begging to be licked off of it. He’s commanding, dominating, a force to be reckoned with. As you await further instructions you follow Sam’s eyes as they move to Dean. 

 

“Is she worthy?” 

 

Dean’s chest heaves as he takes a deep breath. He's reluctant to answer, knowing once he says yes that it's the beginning of the end of his time with you. He can't squash the one thing you've always wanted just because he's a selfish asshole, pulls up the courage to actually say it. ”She’s a valiant warrior worthy of the knighthood.” 

 

Sam nods to his brother. His eyes find yours again as you look up, scanning up his frame, chiseled chest, abs, sharpened jaw, hazel eyes. He wraps one of his large calloused hands around one eyed willie, even hard the length causing it to hang rather than stand fully erect, pulling it up even with your face. You lick your lips in anticipation, and a bit of apprehension, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate some of ache. 

 

“My brother has concluded that you possess the skills of a great warrior. Do you Y/N Y/L/N pledge your oath of allegiance to Winchester and swear to adhere to the code of chivalry set forth by your elders?”

 

Holyohmygodshitballs. You’re taken aback by the sudden revelation that he’s fucking knighting you...here, now! “I swear my Lord.” You squeak out. 

 

“I dubb you Sir… Uh Lady, no that's not right either. Uh, we’ll work out the details later,” his voice trailing to a whisper when he realizes there's no good title. “Sir, for now, Y/L/N of Winchester.”

 

You'd figured it'd be a sword but given the circumstances you're not that surprised when the weight of his master of ceremonies comes down onto first one shoulder then the next. The man could've knighted you in Hell for all you cared, just as long as it happened. 

 

“You may now suck the cock.” Dean bellows from across the room, his words followed by a chuckle. 

 

Without hesitation you lean forward taking as much of him as possible into your throat, your hand wrapped around the base, twisting your wrist as you bob and stroke. Sam wraps his fingers in your hair, not pushing, not even guiding you, just holding your hair back so he can have a better view. 

 

Your eyes wander over to Dean, after all he's the one who wanted this, wanted to see how much of his brother’s cock you could actually take. He's scooted down in the chair, leaned back, legs spread wide, one hand wrapped around his engorged member, lazily stroking himself from head to hilt. You feel yourself getting wetter, the want seeping to your thighs. 

 

Turning your attention back to Sam you cup his balls with your free hand, kneading them lightly, slowly increasing the pressure. Sam bucks his hips once and tears fall from your eyes as you stifle back your gag reflex. Jesus, he's trying to fucking choke you. 

 

He tries to stop himself, knowing that even though he’s calling the shots you're the one in control over all of this, he’ll only give you what you can take. One more swipe of your tongue to the sensitive area just under the head has him shaking, knees all but buckling beneath him as he spills down your throat. His eyes are still fluttering, body trembling as you're careful not to waste a drop, licking him clean as he pulls back from you. 

 

Still the gentleman, he holds out his hand, helps you to your feet before guiding you back onto the bed. He drops to the floor, manhandling you, sliding you forward until your ass is close enough to the edge to suit him. He presses your knees apart, studies your dripping pussy for a moment before he presses his tongue against your clit, dragging it down through your folds and back up again. His technique is different from Dean’s, but both so very effective. 

 

The quick comparison has your eyes wandering to Dean again. He's adjusted himself in the chair, sitting up a little higher, for what you assume is a better view, same slow steady strokes of the wrist. 

 

“Like what you see?” Sam asks, going straight back to lavishing your clit. Of course you like what you fucking see. Answering with only a moan, you brush his hair back from his face. He breaks for another quick question, “Wanna make a small wager?” You sit up onto your elbows, see a grin start to spread across his face. 

 

Well, color you intrigued,“What do you have in mind?” 

 

Sam straightens his body, uses the back of his hand to wipe your juices from his chin. “If you can get Dean off before I get you off... then you can choose what happens next. Otherwise, I call the shots.”

 

“No fair, you have a head start.”

 

“He’s been waiting a while Y/N, I think the odds are reasonable.”

 

“You're on!” 

 

That's the only permission Dean needs, shucking his pants, dragging his shirt over his head on his way over to you. 

 

You change positions, climb up on all fours, straddling Sam's face. Dean is on his knees in front of you. At the same time Dean fills your mouth with his porn on the cob, Sam latches onto your clit. You moan around Dean, almost cumming right there, but you stifle it back because you're not one to lose easily. 

 

Sam underestimates you, forgets that you've done this before, that you know every square inch on Dean’s body and what makes him tick, that you know how to make this man cum better than you know yourself, that you know how much he likes it when you swirl your tongue, when you place your knuckles at the back of his shaft as you wrap your fingers around him, that he goes crazy when you focus on this one particular spot just underneath the head. 

 

Sam also underestimates Dean, takes for granted that he actually knows you like no one else, that you've joked about situations exactly like this before so he can guess where this is headed, and he can't say he's opposed to it, that he knows what a good girl you are, how you can hold back your orgasm for hours, cum only when you're given permission, knows you've got this one in the bag whether he chooses to take his sweet time or not. 

 

Dean chooses not. Pulling out of your mouth, shooting his load over your neck and chest to prove you a winner. 

 

Sam acknowledges his defeat but doesn't stop his deliverance, two fingers dragging in and out, tongue pressed into your clit. Now that your mouth’s not full and he has a little leeway Sam uses his free hand to grab onto your hip, pulling you down harder on his face. The new pressure enough to send you reeling, your orgasm coming lickedy split, sharp, thighs clamped around Sam's head like a vice as you ride it out. 

 

You're lying on your back, Dean tracing circles around your nipple with his index finger. Sam's at the foot of the bed, on his knees, looking up at you as he strokes your inner thigh. They wanna give you a moment to compose yourself, but can't let you come completely down from your high. 

 

“You won. What do you want us to do to you?” Sam asks, fingers replaced with kisses, inching towards your core. You have to admit it's goddamn stupendous to have these two strong, powerful, men at your beck and call. 

 

“Mmm...I'm thinking.” You mutter, beginning to contemplate such a burning question. You go over several scenarios in your mind, positions, weighing your odds of impalement with the foot long pork sword at different angles. You'd stared death in the face many times, never once thought you'd be stabbed in the heart via vagina, and yet suddenly it's a valid stressor. Finally, you have it! “I'm going to ride Dean, and you're going to get behind me.” 

 

Dean? Well, he's perfectly fine with the situation. Positioning himself on his back in the middle of the bed. 

 

Sam? Sam's maybe a little confused by your declaration. He contorts his face, “Behind you?” He says, and you're not clear if he's making sure that you're sure, or if he's asking what the hell it it means. 

 

You move between Dean’s legs, beginning to prep him for round two, stick your ass in the air. Running one damp finger over your puckered hole, “behind me,” you declare, because it's just too fucking awkward to say ‘put your foot long dong in my ass.’ 

 

You hear a strangled “Yea, ok.” And when you glance over your shoulder Sam's pulling a spit soaked finger out of his mouth. He's maybe a little too eager, sliding the entire thing in all at once. The stinging pleasure, fuck! 

 

You can do this, you've done it before, but never...ohdearlordjesus, he adds a second. You arch your back, giving into the hedonism. You forget about Dean for a sec, brought back when your prince slides his palm over your mound. Fuck, this hasn't really even started yet and...hell, you need more…

 

You reposition yourself over Dean, running your slick folds over his semi, the sensation just enough to distract you from any minor unpleasantness caused by Sam opening you up. You rock forward over Dean then push back into Sam, moaning, easily taking a third digit. Shit, he scissors his fingers, all of them, making sure you're good and ready to take what he's packin’.

 

Jesus, Dean’s hard. Weeping. Wanting. Waiting. You move forward a little farther this time, the head slipping easily through your folds, filling your pussy as you press back. Dean bucks his hips upward, the impatient little fuck, but ohyeajustlikethat. 

 

Sam crawls higher in the bed, positioning himself, lining up. You feel a slight nudge, then pressure, he continues to press forward. (Damn it 13th century. Where's the astroglide when you need it?) This...this isn't the stinging you felt before, this is more of a slow burn, but fuck if the fire doesn't feel good. It makes your head spin, your breath hitch, your moans turn to growls. 

 

Dean stilled a long time ago, letting you focus on Sam. Now neither of them are moving, letting you adjust, and thank heaven because goddamnwhatthehellcornholio, you're maxed out, feel like you might burst at the seams. 

 

Fuck, if you're not gonna move, they are. In sync. When Dean pulls, Sam pushes. The achy fullness dissipating, replaced with a sudden charge, a tingling moving throughout your entire body, and you begin to shift. 

 

Funny thing about how full you feel --The boys...well, their take is slightly different. Here they are, packed in there like sardines, crammed, crowded, just a thin wall of flesh separating them, feeling the drag of each other as they maneuver, never feeling anything so tight in their lives. 

 

You swallow back the distinctive stretch of your thighs, a deeply rooted burning in your knees. Not often you feel it extracurricularly but this is work, keeping up with them for… Shit, time’s stood still, so focused on the physical that it has dispersed, scattered around you. 

 

Low, full bodied, resonant sounds fill the room and it isn't clear from whom each rich vibration is coming from. The one thing that is crystal fucking clear -you're not going to last much longer. Hell, you were ready to cum back when Sam had two fingers buried in your ass, that eternity ago, and the struggle is still real. 

 

Fuckingmarymotherofgods (yea...plural ‘cause they’re both deserving of worship). 

 

When your bell rings the quickening annihilates you from the inside out. Light strobing behind your eyes as it sheets through you. Ragged breaths, spinning, throbbing, spasming,coming at you from every direction. It only takes you a second to realize you're not alone, those other ragged breaths, guttural moans…the throbbing belongs to both brothers givin’ you the gravy. 

 

There's a sharp knock at the door, then pounding. “My Lord, my Lord” a man’s voice calling from the other side of the thick wood. 

 

“Go away!” They both shout in unison, Dean’s eyes squeezed shut, Sam’s body heavy against your back. 

 

“Sire, it is imperative! We have had a reputable source report the location of ‘yellow eyes’.”

 

Suddenly, he has the full attention of the room.


	4. The Phallic Title Debacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your threesome goes on a hunt for the yellow eyed demon.

Winchester is bustling as you pass through the city square. There’s no King’s guard, no advisors, no servants at your side. You're threesome has become a foursome as Father Castiel leads the way through the winding narrow road. The fresh stench of shit fills the air as a chamber pot is emptied from a second story window, narrowly missing Dean’s head. 

He shakes a piece of poop from his the toe of his shoe, “Uh, no offense here Padre, but the Royal Court has its own castle blacksmith.” The three of you wait just under the eave of the open air hut. 

“Yes, your Grace…but this one is Kurdish.” The Smith presents Castiel with the blade which he had commissioned, receiving his seal of approval with a nod. 

You await the unveiling of the cutlery seemingly important enough to drag the royalty of Winchester through puddles of feces to make its acquaintance. Castiel holds out both hands to display the blade to the lot of you. It's but a knife; simple handle made of antler, the blade eight inches of cold steel, strong and jagged. There's an inscription along the blade, definitely the language of the Kurds, but a subject you're not very familiar with. 

“This blade will kill your yellow eyed demon, bring you the revenge and justice you have been seeking.” The boys’ eyes are wide with disbelief, distracted, at the revelation brought forth. 

It's maybe a sixth sense, a blessing or a curse from the years of hunting, but you feel the presence behind you. You turn as he draws a small knife, advancing on your King. Drawing your sword you shove Sam to the side, he topples, falls in the urine slick mud. With one quick swing the arm holding the knife is severed. You throw your weapon to the ground as you snatch the new blade from Cas’s hands, plunge it into the abdomen of the still stunned attacker. His face lights with an orange glow, flickering, as the demon is eradicated. 

“Blade works.” You say very matter of factly, passing it back to Cas before helping Sam to his feet. “We need to pack, get ready t’send this yellow eyed son of a bitch back to hell.”

“She's right, we need to leave tonight before the trail goes cold.” Dean takes the knife from Castiel. “I'll just hold onto this.” He sniggers. 

“Really? You think you're the most capable here? The one who should be in charge of the most important weapon Winchester has ever seen?”

Sam pulls the blade from Dean’s hands. “I'm the King, I'll be in charge of it.” 

You turn on Sam, “You? Mr. Almost got stabbed in the back? Mr. Pee Pee Pants?”

“That was so not my fault.” 

“Just because it's not your piss doesn't displace the blame. Stay on your feet next time.” You regain possession of the weapon, giving Sam a formal bow, “Your Grace.” It's pure sarcasm and Sam knows it. 

Castiel clears his throat before anymore bickering ensues. “He was only the first. Word travels fast. With a weapon like this there will be more, you'll be the hunted.”

*********

You had been the one who chose not to fly the King’s banners. Figured it'd be easier to protect him if he wasn't flaunting who he was while on this mission. Sam was dressed quite plainly, much like Dean, chainmaille concealed under a leather shirt, brown pants to match. Any ordinary peasant wouldn't know he’s royalty unless he were to have to draw his huge sword, or his weapon.

It'd been a seemingly endless ride, a good twelve hours in the saddle-- nervous, thoughts racing, stomach churning with both apprehension and excitement to finally face this bastard head on. The three of you decide to bed down for the night, a small clearing just off the beaten path will do just fine. 

Dean still can't let go of the fact that you're the one in possession of the demon killing blade, “You know... I'm responsible, I held Excalibur once.” 

 

You're already smiling,“Do I dare ask?” 

“Ask what?” Dean claims a seat by the fire. 

“You're aware that King Arthur also calls his prick Excalibur? So which one did he let ya hold, Dean?” 

Sam is wholeheartedly laughing, loves the way you can ruffle his brother’s feathers. 

Dean stands,“Fuck you both,” begins to swing an imaginary blade through the air, “That sword is enormous, rare steel, perfectly weighted.” 

“Yes, and men who carry such large and extravagant weapons are generally overcompensating for somethin’.” You hold a sausage up, skewer it with a stick before holding it over the crackling fire. 

“Like what?” 

“Let's just say you're not the only one who’s ‘held’ Excalibur, and it wasn't that great.”

“Since when?” 

“Since a couple a years ago when I took down a pack of werewolves for ‘em. Oddly enough at that time he was traveling with only a squire who kept banging together two coconuts. Ugh, that sound is forever etched in my brain.” You rub your temples as you gaze into the flames, “Anyway, he was...um…grateful.”

Sam quickly changes the subject, challenging your before mentioned assumption. “My python is by far the largest in the land and I still carry a big sword.” 

“Ah, but your reputation precedes you. People across the great seas are aware of the slut slayer in your pants. You could carry a sword twice the size of any other king’s and no one would doubt you.” 

Dean’s fed up, jealousy boiling in his veins. “Let's get some sleep, got a long ride in the mornin’.”

**********  
“Excalibur, pfft,that's a shitty name anyway. Who names their bratwurst Excalibur?” Dean’s riding in the back, still hung up on last night’s conversation. “I'm going to name mine something way cooler than Excalibur. How about…” He thinks for a moment, “...Winchestibur?”

“No,” both you and Sam say in unison. 

“Ok, ok. Win-dicks-i-bur?” 

You stop your horse in its tracks, “Oh for fuck’s sake, you're just making shit up.” 

“So? You don't think it's deserving of a name then?” He asks, trotting off ahead with Sam. 

“Sure. Why don't both of you find a name for your albino cave dweller.” Letting out a deep sigh and rolling your eyes, you mumble under your breath, “It’s gonna be a long day.”

******  
Both you and Dean try to convince him it's absurd but Sam quickly settles on ‘King Cocksbury’ enticing a huge, much needed, laugh. Maybe this ridiculousness is exactly what’s required to lighten the mood when- until now- thoughts your family’s death (at the hands of a being with yellow eyes) have been weighing heavy. 

“Hmmm, a good title for the bologna pony?” Dean rubs his hand across his three day stubble.

“Hell. Dean’s thinking again. If steam starts coming out of his ears Y/N turn him over, we can cook dinner tonight without building a fire.”

“Ooo, King Cocksbury himself making jokes, you’re hilarious little brother.” 

Sam reaches over and gives Dean a good shove in the shoulder, nearly pushing him off Baby. Dean in turn shoves him back which turns into a slap fight between two grown ass men. 

As hilarious as this is you have a mission to complete and need to move on, “Ladies, ladies! Break it up before you resort to hair pulling!” They stop but glare at each other. “I'm not sure what's worse, hunting alone- praying to become a knight one day, or actually being one- sworn to protect the two sexiest but childish morons I've ever met.”

There's a roadside pub just ahead, a small stone building with a thatched roof. “It's just brotherly love.” Sam proclaims dismounting first. 

“It's annoying.” You mumble as you swing your leg over the saddle, pull your foot from the stirrup. 

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Annoyingly sexy,” then winks as pulls you into his arms. You hesitate as he leans in, breath hitches, but you can't seem to resist- letting your eyes fall closed. 

Sam crinkles his nose, “I'm going to fill our costrels for the road. You two want anything?” 

Dean pulls from your lips long enough to mumble, “See if they got any pie.” Motioning for Sam to go on inside. 

You break- suddenly aware of what you're doing, who you're doing it with, and who saw you do it. “We...we can't--S-Sam.” 

“Don't worry bout Sammy. We talked... he's ok with sharin’ until you're married to ‘em, then you're off limits,” he does a reach around, fills both hands with your ass and squeezes. “I plan on making the most of it ‘til then.”

You relax a little, “make the most of it fast then, he won't be but a minute.” 

You're both hurriedly looking for a place that isn't so out in the open, some sort of cover. Dean grabs his bed roll, takes your hand and half leads, half drags you behind the building. There's a few large pines just to the side, only one of the pub’s windows visible from here so you figure it's as good a place as any. You give the blanket a shake, laying it out in a bed of pine needles while Dean over anxiously jerks his pants to his ankles. You've dropped your sword, beginning to unlace your own pants when he steps forward, cradles your face and dips his head again. Your eyes flutter, close, then spring open again. You’d caught a glimpse, a flash, of bluish white light inside. 

“Fuck, Sam!” 

Dean’s peppering kisses down your neck, reassuring you between them, “M’told you...he’s ok...with...this.”

You shove him back, pants around his ankles he stumbles- doesn't fall, looks at you inquisitively as you pick up your sheathed weapon. “Somethin’s wrong,” you say kicking his sword closer to his feet, “com’on.”

Entering cautiously, weapons drawn, you study the room. There's no activity, several dead highwaymen strewn about, their throats slit ear to ear. 

No Sam. 

Oh shit- No Sam. 

You begin to panic, heart’s pounding, palms are sweating, breathing is a little erratic. You let the goddamn freaking King, whom you're sworn to protect, out of your sights to ride the steamin’ semen highway and now he's fucking disappeared. “Knew I shouldn't have let him come in by himself, son of a bitch!” 

Dean’s at your side, “Well, there is a silver lining.”

“Aaand what is that?”

“Now we can bump uglies anytime we want.” He waits for your reaction expecting bitchface. He gets bitchface alright, along with a slap right across his. Your palm stings and for a second you regret the slap- think you should've punched him instead. “Jeez Y/N, it was a joke,” Dean rubs his cheek, reddened and angry, “S’riously though, Sam's not here. That's a good thing, means he's probably still alive.”

You let out a deep breath, “You're prob’ly right. Grab our stuff, I'll get the horses. They can't be far.” Turning to head out the door you notice a powder-like substance in the windowsill, you rub it between your fingers, smell it, “D, it's sulfur.” 

*****

Turns out Castiel was right. Regardless of your efforts you'd been attacked numerous times in the past twenty four hours, managing to literally carve some information from the last demon, obtaining an exact location and description of the one you seek…

You're crouched in a thicket at the edge of the demon’s camp, there's no sign yet of Sam but he has to be here. 

“Baron Von Boner?” 

“You're going to do this now?” You whisper. 

“Might as well be productive.” He says, louder than necessary. 

“Shhhhh, damn it, you're gonna get us caught.”

“Knight of the Schlong Table?” 

The look on your face was enough for Dean to gesture closing the zipper over his mouth, locking it and throwing away the key. 

Only observing for now, you're getting a plan together before rushing in. Obviously outnumbered -three, maybe four, to one- you'd be lucky if any of you make it out alive. 

The decision was made to strike at first light. 

That leaves fourteen or so odd hours to prepare for battle, or to keep yourselves busy ‘til then. 

*****

It's a chilly night, but the blanket is just too warm. You toss it back, welcoming the cool air on your sweat soaked skin. Dean moans and you're not sure if it's because of the cold or that thing you did with your hips. 

So, you do it again...

“Mmm Y/N, I swear to…”

And again. “...g-aaad,” he grunts out. 

Yep, definitely the hips. 

You straighten your back, lock your feet around Dean’s calves as you grind down onto him. His hands slide up your torso, fingers teasing at your breasts. You brush your hair out of your face, peeling a few pieces back that are plastered to your forehead from the perspiration. 

Rocking back you place your palm on his chest and when you rock forward it slides up a bit, your thumb grazing across his nipple. He groans again, can barely get it out before it's broken, as you push backward taking him to the hilt. 

Dean’s eyes are closed, hands splayed across the tops of your thighs. You let your own eyes fall shut, begin to get lost in the feel of it all-- the smooth flesh of Dean’s chest, the stark contrast of the calluses on his palms traveling across your skin, the bead of sweat slowly trickling down between your breasts. 

The fullness. 

The grunts and moans. 

The snapping of the twig behind you. 

The snapping of the twig behind you…

You jump up, pulling the knife from under your bed roll as you move. The demon is dead before the night breeze can dry the coochie juice off Dean’s womb raider. 

He sits up on his elbows. “Mmm, I like it when you fight naked. Now get back over here.” You glance over your shoulder at the body laying not 10 feet away, shrug your shoulders.

You plant one foot on each side of his hips, bend over and tuck the blade back under the edge of your pack. “I swear to god I should let you get blue balls.” 

“Come on, you wouldn't mistreat Vlad the Impaler would you?” 

“If you ever call it that again I'm going to cut it off.” You reach for the handle of the blade. 

“Ok, ok.” He holds both hands in the air in submission. “Just fuck me already,” his fingertips graze at your calves, featherlight across your sensitive flesh. 

You stand up straight, bend at the knees, sink straight down onto his sperminator until he's bottomed out. Your fingertips are white as you grip his shoulders for leverage, squatted on top of him, raising up to the tip, plummeting until he's balls deep. 

His hands have moved to your ass, helping you with the extension, guiding and lifting you as far as possible without sliding out of the sausage wallet. You're able to set a torturing pace, thighs burning, knees tingling, the pins and needles radiating to your core where they're actually welcome. Parts of your body want to give up but you're chasing that release, and it's so close…

You're studying Dean’s features, the lines in the corners of his eyes, how his tongue darts out to moisten his lips just before he pulls the bottom one in between his teeth. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back his growls. How his face is subtly starting to distort into the expression he always has when he cums. 

He's crouched just beside Dean’s shoulder when he materializes. He's middle aged, face worn. Looks you straight in the eye and smiles disturbingly, “Nice tits.” 

His eyes flash a golden yellow, and with a snap of his fingers they're both gone.


	5. Chapter 5: Risky Business.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Y/N finally find the yellow eyed demon, but there’s a surprise.

Part 5

One second Sam is standing in a pub ordering pie, the next he’s standing in the middle of a small hut with plush furnishings, fit for a king. There's no windows, only one door, and it won't budge even when he throws his shoulder into it repeatedly. 

He's taking another pass, getting a larger run on it-this time from across the room. She only appears when he's mid-stride, can't stop. Sam barrels her over, landing on top of her, his face nuzzled directly between her enormous breasts. 

He's pretty fucking embarrassed, can't stop apologizing while he helps her to her feet. She's a good sport, dusts herself off, takes a look around. “So, uh… Mind telling me where I am?” 

“Wish I knew, showed up just like you.” Sam rolls his eyes as she checks the door. “Yea, we're kind’ve trapped in here.” She blows it off with a shrug of her shoulders, and when she turns around Sam finally gets a really good look at her. Something about her features seem familiar, safe even. 

With a raise of her brows and a sort of confused scowl, “you're staring,” and for probably the first time in her life it wasn't at her chest. 

“Oh, sorry. You just remind me of someone I know.” 

*******

Dean boops into the hut upright on both feet, still naked as a jaybird. He’s hunched over, bush whacker in his hand, mouth gaped open, frozen in place as cum drips over his knuckles. 

“Dean?!” Not the first time in the past couple of days that Sam’s seen someone materialize out of nowhere, but this is the first time he’d been caught in a compromising position. 

Dean’s still shaken from the combination of the zap and the orgasm that just ripped through his body. Looks up to see Sam standing on the other side of the room. There’s a blonde, giant jugs, on her knees in front of him. Sam's soldier is buried between her huge tits and she’s playin’ the skin flute with his helmet. 

“Sam? What the fuck?”

******

“Whoa, you mean that this guy who took us is a demon?” she asks. 

Sam puts his hand over hers, “I know it's a lot to take in but--”

She cuts him off, “No, no, it...actually makes sense. I've had nightmares for as long as I can remember- fire consuming everything, yellow eyes dancing in the flames. My family-- they were killed in a fire when I was a baby, now I think it's actually... a memory.”

Not even Dean is oblivious to the uncanny resemblance, keeps studying her face, trying to connect the dots. For some reason it all just clicks, pieces start to fall into place. He knows all too well why you're on this hunt, but it didn't quite make sense until now--now your stories parallel and her’s is intertwined with yours. How does he tell you that your sister is still alive? Alive and cursed, just like Sam. 

“Well then, Jess, looks like we all have something in common.” 

*************

Turns out you were right about the boys being held in the heavily guarded hut. You weren't, however, expecting them to have company. There wasn't time for introductions so you'd have to go with your gut on this one-- help defend her the best you can and hope she doesn't knock herself out with those watermelons. 

It seems like the fighting will never end, they just keep coming. Your arms are heavy, your chest heaving, your sword blood slicked. Decapitation has proven to be a fairly effective method for lower level demons, doesn’t kill ‘em, but they smoke out, which will do. You've got an ace tucked in your waistband, wanting to save the blade for when you really need it. 

Making short work of the last demon in front of you, you turn to see who or what’s coming next. Sam's to your left, pieces of bodies strewn about at his feet, he's obviously tired but still has a determined look in his eye. Dean’s not too far off of your right, sparring with a guy twice his size. He's mostly holding his own until he looks at you, then past you- straight at her. You can hardly blame him, those things are mesmerizing, but the mystification almost gets him killed, so you do what you always do-- save the damsel in distress. 

****  
You look around and the four of you are safe for now, start to regroup. 

“You’re welcome,” you hiss at Dean, roll your eyes. “Can you please stay focused for once, stop thinking with Sir-bangs-a-lot and concentrate before you get yourself killed?” 

“I— that’s not what...just forget it.” He bends and picks up his sword, “Let’s just finish this.” 

Trudging ahead past everyone, “Yes, let’s. I have a wedding to plan.” Ugh, that was low, but jealousy makes you say crazy things. 

You barely get a few steps before the yellow eyed demon materializes. With a flick of his wrist you’re thrown several yards, landing just beside a huge boulder.

He holds one hand out towards the others, stopping them cold in their tracks, rendering them unable to move. You scramble, clammer to your feet, reaching for the Kurdish knife when he puts his other hand out and you’re pinned against the boulder and it’s getting hard to breathe. 

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?” he snarks, turns to you, “you three just had to pry into my business. I knew I should of killed you the night I took the rest of your family and cursed your sister,” knods to big jugs McGee. 

Sister? Your head drops but your eyes travel up, wheels turning. 

Dean leans forward, hands on his knees. “Whew!” It comes out as almost a whistle of relief. “Glad you told her, man. That’s one conversation I did not want to have.” 

“You knew?” snaps out. “For how long?”

“Just since yesterday. She told us her story, you told me yours a while back. I connected the pieces. It didn’t exactly come up since we’ve been a little busy since you got here,” he defends, shrugging. 

“Because we have a similar story doesn’t make us family.” 

“Oh come on! You two look almost identical, there’s no way you can deny it,” the demon patronizes. 

“That’s true,” says everyone else in unison. 

“Great I have a sister and now I’m going to die,” You murmur. 

He turns his attention back to the group. Says a few words in Latin his hand falls but they remain still. 

A flash and he’s beside you, knife pressed firmly against your throat. “Stop— don’t do this.” Sam and Dean both plead. 

Dean starts, “Look man, I know you’re going to kill us all—“

He’s interrupted, “No, just the two of you. I worked hard and have waited a long time for my creations to find me. To fulfill their destiny.” 

“Ok, so you’re going to kill us both. Then can I at least say goodbye to her,” Dean drops his head, “tell her I love her?” 

Sam and your sister both look surprised, but nothing compared to the look on your face. 

“Sure, why not. Come profess your love before you watch me skin her alive then do the same to you,” his fingers snap and Dean’s in front of you, so close you can feel his breath. “It’s the least I can do since your siblings are so important. Show how compassionate I can be.” 

The Demon doesn’t loosen the knife pressing against your skin, instead he stands steadfast as Dean leans forward and presses his lips to yours. 

The kiss deepens and Dean sways into you, a low rumble coming from his deep in his chest. The demon rolls his yellow eyes and turns his head as Dean’s arms snake around your waist. You open your eyes to find his searching yours, asking—you can read him like a book and when you smile into the kiss he has his answer. 

When Dean pulls away he does it abruptly, smoothly. Pulling the blade from your waistband and shoving it into the demon’s stomach. He lurches forward, golden yellows spilling out, flickering, then nothingness as he falls to the ground. 

Dean smiles, looking pleased with himself, “Whatever it takes to save the damsel in distress, right?” he chuckles out. 

“Sure. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.” And maybe there’s a twinge if disappointment about how nonchalant he is. 

Sam runs over to you, “Y/N, are you ok?” He wraps his fingers with yours, bringing them up and kissing your knuckles. 

“I’m fine. It was quick thinking on Dean’s part to get close enough to get the knife.” 

 

The entire trip home Dean’s quiet and reserved, he has little to say to anyone and even less to you. Sam goes back and forth between flirting with Jess and doting on you. 

When you get home to Winchester Dean disappears, you haven’t seen him in days and you don’t dare ask either. You’ve been busy though, planning the wedding that Sam insists must happen as soon as possible —picking out flowers and foods, making adjustments to your dress with the royal seamstress, actually getting to know your sister. It helps to keep your mind off Dean during the day, but the nights are difficult. 

Sam’s amazing but sometimes when he rolls his hips just right, or flattens his tongue across just the right spot Dean’s face appears. Sometimes it’s like you can see him sitting in the corner of your room, quietly watching, stroking himself while he waits his turn. 

And then there’s the nights you’re alone. Most of them you have trouble sleeping and when you do your mind replays the image of Dean asking to tell you he loves you, the dip in his chin when he said it almost shyly, the look in his eye when he kissed you. Then, sharp flashes of him blowing the whole thing off like it meant nothing, the cold shoulder on the way home, how MIA he’s been since. 

****   
On the eve of the royal wedding there is a huge celebration and feast. Dinner is just rounding up when music overtakes the hall and the real party gets started. Sam’s across the room discussing god knows what with someone quite important looking, although you haven't the foggiest idea who he is. You stay seated in your very comfortable, very plush, chair at the head of the table watching your fiancé intently as you down your fourth—maybe fifth— goblet of wine. 

Something, er rather someone, catches the corner of your eye.

Dean. 

It’s only a glimpse of him before he disappears back into the crowd and completely out of sight. You stand up, wanting to get a better look, trying to convince yourself that it really was him and not just a figment of your inebriated imagination. He’s simply just not there so you decide some fresh air may be in order to clear your head. 

It takes you almost half an hour to get from your seat in the back of the room to the empty hallway, a plethora of congratulations and nice to meet yous making this journey seem longer than necessary. . 

You’re about to be Queen, and yet you can’t manage to get another man off out of your head. Fuck, you can’t think about killing that stupid dragon with that stupid Prince, not now, not when you’re just drunk enough to stop giving a shit. Not when you’re among royals who are all clambering for a chance to say hello. Not when you have to have your game face on. 

When you finally do reach the hallway it takes you a second to compose yourself. To just feel the cool stone against your fingers and breathe. Everything is spinning, the wine just too much. Once you feel a bit better you start making your way down the narrow winding staircase that leads out to the gardens. 

A couple of flights in and the swimmy head gets the best of you. Staggering at first you right yourself, take a couple of stairs in stride then topple upright against the far wall. You’re wobbly, stumbling, almost to the bottom, and you think you’re dreaming when suddenly Dean’s there scooping you up into his arms, carrying you to safety. 

 

“Why do we keep doing this? Saving each other,” you ask when he sits you down on still wobbly legs in your chambers. 

“I guess we’re both idiots, keep getting into shit we need help out of,” he turns to leave, gets most of the way to the door then... 

“Maybe we're just good together,” you sigh out softly. Fuck it, you’re too goddamned drunk to have much of a filter anyways. “I never meant for it to happen, ya know.” 

Dean stops cold. 

You clarify, “Us. I never meant for us to happen.” Crawling up into your bed, still fully dressed and corseted. 

“But it did, and I’m sorry that I can’t take it back. I would if I could,” he says turning his back to you. 

“But I'm supposed to marry the King….” 

He swings the door open, “Right, that was always the plan. You're supposed to marry the King.” Taking a step out Dean glances back at you, sleepy-drunk cuddling a pillow. 

He’s pulling the door closed behind him when you slur-murmur, “...even if I am in love with his brother.” 

Then, everything’s black


	6. Time for a wedding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for you and Sam to tie the knot. Except Dean knows you’re in love with him. Will he remain loyal to his own heart or to the throne of Winchester?

Dean takes his time unlacing your corset, deft fingers pulling painstakingly slow. He’s behind you, his other hand tangled in your hair, dragging and angling your head back so he can tongue his way down your neck while he works it loose. 

When he plucks the final string the corset falls to the floor. His now free hand skims forward and up to cup your breast, thumbs across your taught nipple, and you want to melt. Your knees are weak so you shift your weight, press back against his cranny hunter, prominently thick and hard between you. 

Dean’s chest rumbles with a low moan. He lets go of your hair and your head lulls back onto his shoulder. His hands track down your torso to your waist, tuck just under the seam of your petticoat and push, letting it pool at your feet. They roam further down and in, teasing at your folds, two fingers slipping easily inside the gauntlet. 

Somehow you manage to strangle the word, “please.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls back, spins you in his arms. One hand slips up and around your jawline, tracks, piles your hair across his knuckles. He uses the leverage to pitch you at the perfect angle to kiss you long, and hard, and proper. His other hand is squeezing your ass, pulling you forward and up on tiptoes. Your arms course around him, hands splayed at his shoulder blades and you feel the muscle mass flex beneath your fingertips. 

He lets go of your hair, follows the curve of your body, dips in. Dean’s hand slides between you, fingers teasing your clit. His tongue glides across the seam of your lips and you take him in, bold and familiar, as your fingers press deeper into his back, trying desperately to stay upright on weak knees. 

You gasp into him, heat flourishing between your legs where he presses back, fingers teasing your entrance before he pulls forward, circles again, and you’re all but on fire. 

The bed’s soft beneath you when he presses you into it, and thank god he does because your legs were too weak to take anymore— trembling with want and anticipation. His knees dip in beside your hips, hands out wide just above your shoulders, as he hovers with every ounce of desperation right there, written on his face, seared into the hazel of his eyes. 

The headboard bangs against the wall and your head throbs. A bright golden light floods in behind Dean, begins to consume him. As he fades away you panic. 

Your body flies up so your on your elbows. Eyes pop open squinting in the too bright light. Your head throbs harder and it takes a second to gain your bearings. 

“Rise and shine,” her voice is high, and way too cheery. “We only have a couple of hours to get you ready.” 

Still squinting your eyes begin to adjust, your handmaiden quickly ties back the curtains and pours a bucket of water into the tub. Looking down you run your hands over last night’s dress that you’re still wearing. 

“Just a dream,” you sigh softly. 

“Did you say something M’lady?” 

“No, I—-,” you realize Sam’s not with you. “Doris, have you seen my fiance’?”

“Ah, yes. King Samuel is having breakfast in the garden.”

You step out onto your balcony that overlooks the gardens. Sam is indeed there, at a small bistro table surrounded by beautiful red and white flowers. Ever the gentleman he stands as Jess approaches, bows and rushes to offer her a seat. You watch quietly for a few more minutes as they eat and laugh in comfortable company. 

When your bath is ready you retreat back inside. It feels good to relax and now that you’ve been awake for a bit and your back is to the light the pounding in your head starts to relent. 

“I almost forgot,” Doris says mildly, presenting you with an intricately carved wooden box. “Lady Tinley sent this for you to wear today.” 

It’s a beautiful necklace encrusted in sapphires. “Lady Tinley?” 

“Yes ma’am. She found me this morning, said that after your conversation last evening that she thought it would make an appropriate wedding gift. She said the sapphires reminded her of you, beautiful and mysterious.” 

You racked your brain as to who Lady Tinley was, let alone the fact you had an entire conversation with her. Now that you’re thinking about it the last thing you remember you were at the head of the table, seated beside Sam, as several elders of Winchester took turns toasting you. You have no recollection of anything further, but you’re sure Sam was probably ashamed and disappointed that he had to put you into bed drunk. 

******  
There’s probably a thousand people packed into the coronation room awaiting your arrival. Some faces not even Sam recognizes. He’s fidgeting, pacing a bit back and forth in front of his throne until Father Castiel clasps his shoulder and says a few words in his ear which seems to calm him a bit. 

The bells toll. That’s your cue. 

The doors swing open wide and trumpets sound out. Deep breath. Everyone who turned out for the occasion is lining each side of the room, all turned to see you make your entrance. 

All eyes are definitely on you. 

You kill monsters for a living, you’re a damn knight for christ’s sake, and somehow this makes you nervous. Staring at your feet you take a step, all but force yourself to hold your head up proudly like the Queen you’re about to become. When you do manage to bring your eyes up they quickly scan the crowd, somehow focus in on Dean almost immediately. He looks up, eyes catching yours, and a smile spreads across his face. 

It’s so frickin’ easy to take the next step when it’s towards him. Dean holds your gaze, and his smile, until you’re close enough that you could reach out and touch him. He anxiously glances over to Sam— and you do too— only that’s when the realization sets in. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t disappointed but it’s a little late for that so you blink it back and take another step. 

*****

 

Dean.

Well, Dean stands in the front row intently watching a nervous Sam, not even aware that he’s staring. His mind races, keeps going back to what he overheard you say—“...even if I am in love with his brother.” 

When the bell tolls three there’s a fanfare of brass announcing your arrival that brings him out of his haze. He sucks in a deep breath as the doors open, only for it to be taken away the moment you step inside. 

Dean’s been watching you intently the entire way up the aisle, not sure how in the hell he caught your eye, but he’s damn glad he did. ‘Cept now this entire crazy thing has gone zero to sixty in no time flat--he’s supposed to be supportive of his brother on his wedding day, yet all he can think about is the bride. 

And the closer you get the more he’s torn— torn between his loyalty to his brother, his loyalty to the frickin’ throne of Winchester, and his love for you. He anxiously glances over to Sam, and so do you. When Dean glances back you take another step forward, reach out and take Sam’s hand. 

The thudding in Dean’s ears has steadily gotten louder, heart racing since you walked in. Now, it’s the only sound he hears. His vision narrows down too and suddenly he’s honed in on Jess who’s standing directly across the aisle from him. He’s sympathetic to the abandoned look on her face because he knows exactly how she feels, but there’s something different about her that he just can’t put his finger on. 

Everything explodes out of that fishbowl all at once, his vision, his hearing-- all back to normal, but his head’s still a little swimmy. He looks up to where your hands are in Sam’s, “Does anyone have an objection to why this man and this woman shouldn’t be joined in holy matrimony?” father Castiel calls out to the crowd. 

Dean blinks back you and Sam, almost instinctively turning to Jess, and bloodyfuckinghell, he knows what’s wrong. 

Dean doesn’t object—-not in so many words, anyway. “Sam,” it bellows louder than he means for it to, “I need to speak with you for a moment.” 

The entire hall lights up in gasps and whispers. 

Sam’s brow creases down, grinding out, “Can’t it wait? Little busy here.” 

“Um, no— actually it can’t. We’re talking big time fate of Winchester here. You’re the King so get your King ass down here and do your damn job!” Sam goes all out bitch face but steps down to Dean. “Look man, we need to go somewhere private and talk for a minute.”

Sam gestures to you, “Dean, I can’t just leave her standing at the altar.”

“No, no you can’t. Bring her along, if I’m right this has to do with her too.” Like everyone else Jess looks stunned through the whole thing, even more so when Dean grabs her hand, “Come on, you too, Princess,” as he leads her away. 

The four of you make your way to a private chamber well outside of prying ears. This is where Sam, like generations before him, holds the meetings of his court. It’s a huge stone room, bland like the rest of the castle, except these walls have heard nearly every secret Winchester has ever had. Two large windows on the back wall overlook the moat below and let in more than enough light. There’s a round table in the middle, but none of you sit, instead you all spread out, pace. Not the time to be diplomatic. 

Dean harbors in close to Jess, truly concerned, “Have either of you looked at her recently?”

There’s a smirk on Sam’s face before he clears his throat “Sure we have, why?”

“It took me a minute since I don’t know her as intimately as the two of you do, and I haven’t seen her since we arrived home...” Dean’s truly thunderstruck, “...seriously neither of you noticed that a week ago her knockers were the size of freaking watermelons, and now they're—- they're —cantaloupes?” 

You roll your eyes, “Maybe she was on her period, Dean. You stopped our wedding to tell us that you’ve been checking out my sister’s tits?” 

Dean grips your arm as you try to walk away, loose enough that you still can, if you wanna, “I stopped your wedding because I don’t think you’re marrying the King.” 

Sam’s eyes are wide, offended, “How dare you!” It booms, echoes off the stone and surrounds you all a second time. 

You're confused but he’s got your attention, “I’m not quite following you here.” 

Dean holds steadfast, not intimidated at all, “Look, the yellow eyed-demon cursed Sam and your sister. We know Sam was cursed with, well...let’s face it— it’s a weapon of ass destruction,” everybody nods in agreeance. “I can only assume that Jess’s curse was the giant bazoingas. What I’m getting at is— I think when I killed ‘ol yeller the curse was lifted. Exhibit A— cantaloupes.” 

Sam can’t make eye contact when he chimes in softly, shyly, “And if she has cantaloupes then... I might have a normal size spam javelin,” looks down at his crotch, embarrassed. His claim to fame, to the throne, might be gone. 

Dean shakes his head, “You might? How do you not know?” He’s taken aback but relieved that maybe Sam isn’t being deceitful, just a bonehead. 

“Sorry, maybe I don’t play with mine as much as you do yours,” he digs. 

Jess, who’s been nothing but quiet until now raises her hand before she speaks, “I noticed. Dean’s right. It’s smaller. I mean— it wasn’t when we first got back, but I’ve noticed a change since. Nothing major, maybe a couple of inches.” 

Your hands go up, “So you two have been playing cervix crusader? That’s just freaking awesome.” 

Sam is done, “Oh, don’t act like you and my brother never— I even gave him my blessing until our wedding day.”

You look down, “That’s—- different.” 

Sam steps forward, a little too close, “How’s it different?” and when he says your name it’s cold for the first time. 

Dean interveins, “Because we love each other,” and his eyes catch against yours, a spark of hopefulness flickers behind them. 

Sam looks to Dean, “You what?”

“I love her, Sam. I wasn’t lying just to get the knife. The thought never crossed my mind until I wrapped my arms around her and felt the hilt, and even though she won’t admit it I know she loves me too.” Dean flanks in at your side, “Sorry, but you said it last night when you were drunk.” 

“Is it true, are you in love with Dean?” Sam asks. 

“Yea—-I...think I am”

Sam’s face lights up with relief, “Oh, thank god. I mean don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a great banana basket, but we’re just friends. And I really have it bad for your sister.” 

Father Castiel reveals himself from the shadows. “Obviously, the two of you are soulmates, after all.” 

“Where did you…when—-?”

Castiel flatly interrupts, “I have a confession of my own. I am not a priest. I am an angel of the Lord.” 

“Angels don’t exist. It’s a myth meant to help children sleep better at night,” 

Thunder booms and candle light flickers. Castiel’s eyes glow an electric otherworldly blue, and when his shoulders flex-roll back there’s a golden aura casting a shadow of a magnificent set of wings behind him. 

Holy shit. When you blink they’re gone. 

Ummm. Yea—okay. So, that just frickin’ happened. 

You have no idea how Sam’s keeping his shit together, “Why would an angel care about…”

“Because God commanded it.” He remains stoic as ever, “and so it shall be.” 

You have to bite your lip to force your mouth closed but Dean’s adjusted, “I’m still not getting the why part here, padre.” 

“In the grand scheme you are all very important. Azazel, the yellow eyed demon. —Azazel, did indeed have big plans for Sam and Jess. The curse rendered him capable of subtle mind control, significantly intensified when you are together. He’d planned on letting you find each other naturally so your pre-destined bond would be stronger, but Y/N came along and he had to intervene. He knew that if Sam actually married his Knight he would remain faithful to his vows regardless of his true feelings for Jess, lessening his hold. 

“And Azazel wouldn’t have a king to manipulate.” Dean is on his game. 

“Correct. If he had manipulated Sam’s ruling even minutely the consequences would have been felt for thousands of years— millenia, even. Fates and destinies that have been written since the beginning of time either erased or distorted until there’s nothing left that resembles God’s will.” 

Everyone comes out with their own version of gasp/ grunt. Most of them resembling something along the lines of holy shit or fuuuck. 

“And if he had succeeded in killing either of you the results would have been apocalyptic. You are meant for great things, Dean Winchester, but only with Y/N by your side.” 

You all just let it sink in for a moment. 

Finally, Dean breaks the silence when he turns to Sam, “There’s still a problem. If you’re ‘normal’ then who’s the true king?”

Glances are shared, because nobody really want to— make the comparison. 

Castiel comes out with a gruff, “Well, let’s see.” 

It’s actually awkward for once. When they both have to present themselves to an ‘angel of the lord’ (his words). There’s a thorough inspection and Castiel makes sure that the fact angels are well versed in exact measurements is known prior to his final answer. “Sam, you have in fact lost some length. You are now 10 inches. Dean, you are truly the big brother. 10 and ¼ inches.” 

Sam’s obviously disappointed but he takes it in stride, “You're the king of Winchester now, Dean. Please don't undermine all of the things I've accomplished.” 

“Is this about the time I had the King’s guard run around clucking like chickens?”

Sam gives bitch face, “One of the reasons, yes.”

“Oh come on I was so young then, immature.” Dean scowls defending himself. 

The sigh is absolutely audible, “It was the day before you left on your quest with Y/N.”

“Whatever.” Dean rolls his eyes, “In that case I want to make my first decree as King of Winchester.” He reaches out and takes your hands “I decree that Lady, um...Knight— have we ever figured this out?” 

You're smiling as you shake your head no.

“Okay then. I decree that Y/N Y/L/N will be my wife.” He leans in, whispers “if that’s okay with you.” 

Sam’s brows are creased, “Dean, that’s not really what a decree is.” 

“Well, I’m the King so if I say it’s a decree then it’s a decree and no future King can supersede it.” 

“You’re right, you’re the King. So, decree away.” Sam gives with another long sigh and a hand through his hair. 

“So, how bout it? Wanna get hitched?” 

“Hell yes, as long as we can do it now because I can’t breathe much longer in this dress.” 

“Deal, but one more thing. I want to make another decree.” 

Sam was almost to the door, “What now?”

“I decree that I hereby rescind my throne to Samuel Winchester, rightful King of Winchester.” He glances to Castiel, “That is as long as nothing apocalyptic happens.” 

“None for several thousands of years which your ancestors will play a great role in…” when he notices everyone staring he stops. “No ill effects on the future because Sam is King. This is actually his fate. So, job well done.” 

*******  
“So, now that we’re married what do you wanna do?”

“I hear that Highclere has a dragon problem.” 

“Only if I get to save the damsel in distress.” 

 

And they all lived happily ever after…… Ha ha ha, have you met these guys?


End file.
